


Ampersand

by realjane



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Charmione, F/M, Fred Weasley Lives, Rare Pairings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-07
Updated: 2018-05-07
Packaged: 2019-05-03 11:01:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,961
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14567586
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/realjane/pseuds/realjane
Summary: Hermione and Charlie find a strange sort of symmetry at Ginny and Harry's engagement party.





	Ampersand

**Author's Note:**

> Hi Friends! I recently discovered this pairing and I find it somewhat adorable! Enjoy a little brain crack one-shot. :)

“Hmm. Blue. Interesting. I would’ve had you down for brown, or green, to distract from your hair.” She sidled up next to him and nudged him with her shoulder. He said nothing, but his face betrayed the slightest smirk. “Hi,” she whispered, when his eyes flicked towards her. “What’s it been… two years?”

He nodded once towards the center of the ballroom, where Harry Potter was waltzing with his wife, Ginny, the five-time MVP of the Quidditch World Cup. This whole shindig was for them, to celebrate their engagement, but the wizarding world expected an announcement of a different kind from Harry soon. Either he would accept his nomination for Minister of Magic, or that honor would fall on a new chosen one. The Ministry’s nominations list was as mythical as it was political. Hermione fell somewhere on that list, and it was no secret that she had been a favorite of Shacklebolt’s long before he announced his impending retirement. Still, Harry was the heir presumptive. He was also a man happily, stupidly, lovingly grinning at his fiance in the middle of a staring crowd. He was oblivious.

It was easy to find distraction in this room, anyway; from the bubbles enchanted to hang in the air, to the gold candlelight, everything sparkled--including the massive buffet, which spanned every conceivable type of food. Hermione had chosen her most formal outfit, which just happened to be the robes she typically wore when she was called to testify before the Wizengamot. A peachy-tannish number with a pencil skirt and blazer-cape, and a low kitten heel. She didn’t feel sparkly. She felt boring.

Beside her, Charlie Weasley was fidgeting with his collar.

“Are you all right?” Hermione whispered.

“This bloody collar is choking me!” He grunted.

“Undo the top button, you numpty.”

“My mother will kill me--”

“Molly won’t notice,” Hermione said, batting his hands away from his collar. “She’s been babysitting the sherry for the last half hour. Move your paws, Weasley!”

He dropped his hands in defeat. Hermione’s fingers tucked briefly into his collar as she unfastened the top two silver buttons on his rather spectacular dress robe. His Adam’s’ Apple jumped, but she didn’t seem to notice. Hermione brushed the fabric across his chest and stood back. “Better?” she asked. He merely nodded and turned back to watch the endless waltz between his sister and the chosen one.

“Romanian robes, eh?”

“It’s all I could find in time--”

“No, no, they’re perfect,” she said appreciatively. “You just look more fancy than anyone currently present with access to _pedestrian_ robes. I mean, seriously, Charlie, you could’ve just worn boring _British_ robes from Madame Malkin’s like the rest of us _._ ”

He scoffed in disbelief. “I didn’t have much time to find something else before my portkey, and there’s only one Romanian mercantile close to the sanctuary--a textile market, might I add… besides, you’re not seriously criticizing _me_ for being overdressed when _Malfoy_ is literally wearing a pair of live ravens.” He gestured to the far corner, where Draco Malfoy was indeed a living perch for a pair of nasty looking ravens. He had paid his reparations for the goings on during the Great War, but nevertheless, he still showed up to any party as if he had been summoned from Hell, or at least  next door.

“I suspect the birds are meant to draw my attention,” she sighed, as her cheeks flushed, “and then promptly remind me what I could have spent the rest of my life trying to match.”

Charlie leaned his shoulder against hers. “I didn’t mean to--”

“I led you into it. It’s fine.” She raised her chin. “In all seriousness, you do look smashing, Charlie.”

“Thanks,” he grinned. “Mum requested that I wear Weasley Blue, which is not a thing, by the way, and that I cover my tattoos to spare our grandparents. She also told me about all this _yesterday morning_. It’s been a bit of a scramble rearranging my crew, let alone clothing myself for this rather hasty engagement party. She’s lucky I had time to visit my barber.”

“It’s not hasty!” Hermione gasped, smacking his arm. “They’ve been engaged for a year and a half, you beardy bastard!”

“Well, nobody told me that until yesterday.”

“You could reply to your mother’s letters! Or, say, come home for Christmas,” she said, crossing her arms.

“Last Christmas that I spent at home, you were with Raven King over there.” Charlie nodded towards Draco. “And we only saw you for an hour on Christmas Eve, because you were playing house.”

“Which is _why_ I wasn’t at the Burrow,” Hermione sighed. “Huh. Time flies when you’re clawing your way out of the Underworld!” Hermione hazarded a glance at Draco across the room. He looked as if he had smelled something rotten.

“How’s it feel to have your freedom, Persephone?”

“I’m fine, honestly,” she said, crossing her arms. “Only... he gets invited to everything as an act of good faith. I’m talking every single Ministry gala, society raffle, and bowling tournament. Everything EXCEPT the yearly Weasley Christmas party, and every time, I pray for an open bar. Speaking of which--whiskey? Brandy? What’s your pleasure?”

“You’re speaking my language. Whiskey,” Charlie said, rubbing his hands together.

“I think I knew that from Bill and Fleur’s wedding, though I’m not sure you’d remember that night,” she laughed. “How would you like it?”

“Straight from the bottle, if that’s an option. Straight up, if I have to mind my manners.”

“As long as you’re nice to _me_? To Hell with manners.” Hermione turned on her heel and marched up to the bar. She leaned across the counter to whisper to the bartender, they exchanged galleons, and Hermione was handed two tumblers and the largest bottle of whiskey that she could carry. She turned back to the man in blue, held up her trophy like it was the Goblet of Fire, and gestured towards the balcony.

Charlie coughed into his hand to keep from laughing. She was bold, he’d give her that.

“How have we _never_ really spoken one-on-one?” Hermione asked, as Charlie filled both of their glasses. He corked the bottle and handed her a glass.

“I am a fair bit older than you, remember. While you _children_ played wizard’s chess in the light of the Christmas tree, Bill and I had rather better things to do.”

She laughed. “Such as?”

“Let’s just say: I’ve been playing with fireworks longer than Fred and George.”

They clinked their glasses together.

If whiskey were a strength potion, then Charlie seemed to have the vitality of a clydesdale, and the mane to match. Hermione was gifted in the hair department, but she didn’t have glorious waves like him. With his auburn hair pulled back in an elastic, Hermione could see that the underside of his hair was closely cropped in an undercut. His barber had carefully shaved diagonal lines into his shorter hair, which drew attention to the tattoo that peeked up from below his robes and curled up into the nape of his neck. It was very sexy on him. Not all men could pull that look off, not even his own brothers, but on him, it was rugged. It made him look dangerous without him needing to prove it. It probably meant something amongst his Romanian cohorts; he _was_ one of the highest ranking dragon tamers ever licensed by the Ministry of Magic. And tall! How’d he get to be that tall? He had almost caught up to Bill. He could probably use Hermione’s head for an arm rest.

Two and a half glasses of whiskey had made them quite comfortable around one another. Hermione was leaning with one elbow up on the stone bench, pivoted towards him, shoes kicked off and legs tucked beneath her.

“Why are you staring at me?” Charlie tried not to laugh at the dreamy look on Hermione’s face. She shook off her daze, but her gaze remained focused on him.

“I love your hair like that,” she said decidedly. “I’ve always liked longer hair on men, but this style is even better. Do you ever braid it? I would. If I were you.” The whiskey muddled her boundaries. She reached out and brushed her fingers from his temple to behind his ear, and her hand came to rest there. “How long has it been like this?”

“It’s new,” he murmured. Charlie grasped her hand and removed it from his face. Hermione frowned.

“What’s wrong?” she asked.

“Nothing, Hermione, I’m just feeling the whiskey more than I anticipated.” He patted her hand thoughtfully, but a look crossed his face. He looked conflicted, as if he were ready to run away. Charlie shifted down the bench a bit and his shoulders curved forward. He looked strangely sad.

Hermione placed her hand on his arm. “I’ve never known you to be a lightweight.”

“No, but I know that _you_ are, and that’s the problem,” he teased. The smile dropped from his face and he squeezed her hand. “Look, we don’t know each other all that well, and at this point I feel like I’m taking advantage--”

She scoffed. “I’m not even drunk, Charlie.”

He nodded, but he didn’t seem to believe her. He straightened his shoulders. He was avoiding eye contact. “Then it’s better that we keep it that way.”

Hermione sighed. “Come on, let’s just finish the bottle--”

“That would be a poor decision. For your reputation, more than mine.” He stood up. “If we were at The Burrow, and it was just my family, you know I’d be happy to drink you under the table, but there are people _keeping an eye_ on you… certain people. Who might not say nice things _about_ you.”

“It’s not like I had an angle, here! It’s…” She sighed again, and looked down at her hands. “I wasn’t... Oh, bugger,” Hermione said. She rubbed her face. “I’m an idiot.”

“You’re not.” He touched her shoulder. She looked up at him and smiled weakly. “Wait… You _weren’t_ coming on to me,” he clarified, though he couldn’t hide the puzzlement on his face.

“I suppose I _was_ , but it’s because… with you it’s never been about ulterior motives. All right? You’re a flirt! It’s safe! So, yes I was _flirting_ , but I wasn’t trying it on with you… ugh. Whiskey makes everything more difficult to… words.” She pulled her shoulder out of his warm, strong grip and tossed her curls over her shoulder. “But I’m not even tipsy. And it’s presumptuous of you to think so.”

Charlie couldn’t help but chuckle. “I’ve seen you tanked in my parent’s washroom more than once, while Ron holds your hair back.”

“Both times Fred and George were to blame for that!” Hermione exclaimed. “Their Knockout Punch delivers on it’s promise! Look--I’m sorry about how I’ve been tonight. A familiar face is better for my sanity than nobody at all, and the rest of your family (who _normally_ hang out with me at these sorts of things) are somewhat… busy, with their own little families.”

He leaned against the railing and folded his hands before him. He breathed out slowly before he spoke.“It’s all right. You _like_ being flirted with, and it’s better to flirt with me and try to avoid _him_. Does that... about sum it up?”

“Ohhh, why do you have to make it sound so infantile?” She covered her face with her hands.

“It’s not childish. Like you said, it’s safe. For you. He doesn’t get to see you sad, and you win.” He touched her chin fondly and grabbed the near-empty bottle of whiskey. Better to busy his hands with something else; he couldn’t stop reaching out for her. “Can I call you a portkey home?”

She looked away and shook her head. “I am over him, you know. But I hate the way they all look at me.” She was embarrassed. She _had_ used him, hadn’t she? Nevermind that he was sexy and adventurous and aloof, and came with the greatest blood family that she could never really have (except that they demanded she attend every family function as if she were theirs). It was no excuse. What did she expect to happen? She was long past wanting to make Draco jealous or convince him to take her back. It was just… lonely, coming to these events time after time. By herself. Nobody’s name was hitched to hers with an ampersand on the face of an engagement party invitation. Since Draco, being alone felt a little too heavy. Even Ron was happy--with a Muggle librarian he’d met a few years back. His brother was not meant to be her scapegoat. Charlie deserved better than to be her buoey in a sea of happy couples.

“Mind if we blame the whiskey, just for now?.” She smiled at him weakly, tears threatening at the corners of her eyes. “For the crying thing, at least.”

He nodded. “It happens,” Charlie said, crossing his arms. “I’m a weeper.”

“You are not!” She laughed. One tear escaped down her cheek and pooled against her collarbone. His fingers itched to brush it away but he curled his nails into his palms. She let out a hiccup-sob combo, and Charlie gave in to his impulse to physically comfort her; he pulled her up so she was standing and took her other hand.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Forget about the conversation we just had for a second, what I said--what do need?”

She looked up at him through heavy lashes. “Be around you. Hey, what did you mean when you said it’s safe for _me_?”

Charlie shrugged. “You’re a beautiful woman, Hermione.” He brushed the back of her hands with his thumbs. “You seem to get better with every passing Christmas, which is only magnified by the fact that I haven’t seen you in several years--you’re about two Christmases more lovely, in fact.” He straightened his shoulders and stood tall in his admission. “And... I do not spend time with many women in Romania, and you’re a force of nature, so, being around you is like being in the presence of the sun.”

“So… you’re Icarus in this scenario?” Hermione was blushing furiously but she couldn’t hide her delight at his words.

“I don’t know about that, but I am easily sunburned.” They shared a hearty chuckle, which broke the tension of Charlie’s anxiety. His laugh was rich and velvety.

She squeezed his hands. “I have an idea. If you’re amenable.”

“Is that so?” Charlie raised a quizzitive brow.

“We should go back inside, and enjoy ourselves at this party. Together. As two people who are just getting to know each other. No more alcohol, no pretense. Flirting optional.”

“I don’t know if I can help it.”

“I’m counting on that.” She smiled. “Is this safer? Being open about it?”

He shook his head. “Undoubtedly worse for my particular problem, but I’m willing to chance it.”

“You’re much more fun than you’ve ever let on!” Hermione exclaimed.

“To be fair, it _has_ been a while. I’m a practical carnival.”

“Prove it,” she said, slipping her feet back into her kitten heels.

“I’m an abysmal dancer.”

“I’d love to.”

Charlie offered Hermione his elbow and she took it. As they re-entered the ballroom, the rest of the guests had gotten noticeably drunker, and the room buzzed with all the effervescent energy of a lead balloon. The band was obviously running overtime, so they were giving very little effort to play anything other than a stale polka. Ginny and Harry hadn’t seemed to notice. They were still swirling in their own little world. Ron and Millie had finally arrived, and he was bringing his very pregnant wife little snacks as all the grannies fawned over her. Bill was encouraging Ron as his own wife, the equally pregnant Fleur, waddled after their two toddlers. Fred and George were playing some card game of their own invention on a window-seat. Nobody could remember when they last saw Percy. The Prince of Darkness was still lurking in the corner. Everyone else of the Non-Weasley variety were drunk and leaning on each other for support.

Charlie let out a low whistle.

“Now, this is just embarrassing!” He made eye contact with the twins and gestured towards the band. Fred’s ears perked up, George rubbed his hands together, and they disappeared into the crowd. “I might regret that,” Charlie chuckled. “Nevertheless… shall we?” He held out his hand. Hermione took it readily. Charlie slid his arm around her waist and the heat from his hand settled against her lower back.

“I have a tendency to lead, I have to warn you,” Hermione said.

“Typical Gryffindor,” he grumbled, with a wink.

The music stopped abruptly, as Fred and George pulled the bandleader aside. In the span of thirty seconds, the man’s face went from annoyed to _thrilled_ , and the bad launched into a lively country dance. There were hardly enough sober couples to start a group line dance, but it was enough to get things rolling again. Charlie and Hermione just stood there for a moment, feeling out the beat. Finally, they worked up to bit of a hopping shuffle. It wasn’t graceful, but it was amusing. So much so, they nearly collided with Harry and Ginny.

“Hermione! It’s good to see you dancing!” Harry called.

“Surprised you noticed!” Hermione laughed.

“Charlie, I can’t believe you made it!” Ginny gasped, wrenching her hands out of Harry’s and throwing her arms up towards her brother. Charlie caught her and Hermione dodged safely out of the way. Harry grabbed Hermione’s arm to steady her. “I didn’t know if you’d catch the portkey in time.”

“Here I am!” he smiled at his sister. “Did you get my present?”

“I did!” Ginny beamed. “I couldn’t convince my coach to let me give it a tryout in an official match, but rest assured, that broom has gotten plenty of play on the practice field. It’s a dream! I don’t know how I ever flew on that old one.”

“I’m thrilled,” Charlie said. “It took me a while to find the right leather. I know you have strict regulations, and obviously it had to be the right dragon. But when we lost Bella, and I couldn’t think of a better tribute than having my sister ride a broom with a grip made of her hide. Might seem barbaric, but--”

“No, no, it’s perfect.” Ginny hugged him again. “I’m so sorry about Bella, Mum just told me; I know she was your favorite.”

Charlie sniffed back a sudden surge of emotion for the dragon, which he had raised up from a little egg. “Thanks, Gin. I’ll always carry her with me.”

“And so will I.” She touched his cheek. Meanwhile, Hermione cast Harry a sideways look.

“When did Charlie send Ginny’s present?” she murmured.

“About a month or so ago,” Harry said.

Hermione crossed her arms. “How thoughtful!” she said. So, he had known about their engagement for at least a month after all. Charlie’s eyes flicked to her. He looked apologetic.

“Look, Gin, I’ll be around a while,” Charlie said. “Let’s chat soon, yeah?”

“Of course. Oh, I’m just so happy you’re here!” She twirled to Hermione. “And as for you, ‘Mione… what ARE you wearing?”

Hermione laughed. “Gee, thanks!”

“You look like a barrister. I’m not being funny, but we really ought to burn it when you’re done wearing it.” Ginny shook her head, patted Hermione on the shoulder, and returned to her fiance.

“That’s because this is what I wear to court!” Hermione called, but it was no use.

“I’m sorry!” Harry mouthed to Hermione, taking his tipsy love in hand. The band switched up the tune to something slow and lilting. Ginny lay her head on his shoulder. They resumed their swaying.

Charlie held out his hand to Hermione and cocked an eyebrow. She took it, and gave him a playful push to the shoulder as his arm curved around her waist. “Thought you said you just learned about them.”

It was his turn for flushed cheeks. “I may have… bent the truth.”

“Which is?”

Charlie sighed. “I lost one of my dragons about three months ago.” He swallowed, hard. “I’ve not been handling things particularly well. I’ve been home, actually.”

“I’m sorry,” Hermione said gently.

“Thanks,” he said. He squeezed her hand. They fell into the gentle sway of the ballad, and more couples were joining them on the dance floor, which meant that they had to stand closer together. Charlie held their clasped hands against his chest.

“So… why lie to me?” she asked.

“It was easier to pretend like I’m a very busy man far from home, than talk about the fact that I’ve been crying over a Common Welsh Green while my mother does my laundry and force feeds me my weight in bread.”

“Safer,” Hermione suggested. He nodded and looked down at their hands.

“Truth is, I’ve resigned my position with the sanctuary.”

“Oh… Charlie…”

“It’s all right. Just don’t tell Ginny, yeah? Mum agreed not to tell her I was home so it would be a nice surprise tonight.”

“Sure,” Hermione agreed. “She may be my dearest friend, but what she doesn’t know… you know.”

“Are you disappointed? I lied to you.” He asked.

“That would be rather hypocritical, don’t you think?” Hermione touched his cheek and then settled her hand at the crook of his neck, so her thumb just graced the top of his collar. “Tell me about her?”

“Mind if I don’t, just now?” His voice betrayed a bit of welling emotion. Hermione shook her head. They just swayed for a while.

Hermione studied the pattern on his lapel. It was subtle, but there was silver embroidery running through the weave, which shimmered in the candlelight. It was obviously Romanian and very fine, and the cut of the armscye was modified with inserts to accommodate his muscular shoulders. It was deliberately striking, and she was now certain that the color was not a second thought either. The haircut was very likely a part of the plan as well. Hermione knew it very well, the need to… compensate for pain, and put on the armor of the perfect outfit to hide sadness in plain sight. Charlie _looked_ handsome and successful as ever, despite how he felt.

Her fingers absent-mindedly played with an errant piece of hair from his ponytail. Soft, like ribbon. She wanted to take his mind off the weight of his feelings. After all, they didn’t come back inside just to say nothing to one another.

“Harry’s a shoe-in for Minister, don’t you think?” Hermione said. The corner of Charlie’s mouth quirked upwards.

“Unless they choose you, I hear.”

“Gods, I pray they don’t,” she gasped. “Don’t get me wrong, I’m flattered, but I don’t want to do all that paperwork.”

“You? Against some homework?” he said.

“Shocking, I know,” she giggled.

“What do you want to do?” Charlie asked. Hermione worried her bottom lip.

“Honestly, I’d be perfectly happy taking an internship at St. Mungo’s. Did you know I almost went into it, before the Ministry scooped me up for the Muggle Affairs job? Madame Pomfrey even wrote me a letter of recommendation.”

“You’d make a great healer!”

“Yeah? I don’t know. It might be nice, and I’ve got my eye on a position in pediatrics. It would certainly beat working with grown up wizards. No offense.”

“None taken,” Charlie laughed. “You like children, then.”

“Love ‘em. They’re so wise, and so honest. And I’ve always loved babies. I think it would be a lovely change.”

“You should go for it. If that whole Minister thing doesn’t work out.” Charlie rubbed her back lightly. His fingered stiffened against her spine and he pressed his lips against her forehead suddenly. “Just… play along for a moment,” he whispered against her skin.

Hermione’s eyes fluttered shut. What was there to pretend? As if she wasn’t completely willing to go along with whatever conceit he could suggest at that moment. Still, she leaned into the feel of his lips, and the gentle tickle of his well-groomed beard, and when he pulled away she smiled up at him. He gave her a look like she hung the stars.

“Raven boy is walking this way,” he murmured. “And I will pull his lungs out through his ears if that’s what you need me to do.” Hermione’s fingers curled desperately into the fabric of his coat, but she merely shook her head and smiled.

“Don’t go anywhere, whatever happens,” she said.

“Wouldn’t dream of it.”

She only had a moment to breathe out before she heard the tell-tale clearing of Draco Malfoy’s throat.

“May I cut in?” he growled. Hermione just turned her head enough to make eye contact with her former fiance. The pair of ravens had vanished, but he still looked every bit the part of a goth prince. Her heart dropped into her stomach and she squeezed Charlie’s hand in a vice grip.

“Oh, Draco! Hey! Have you met my date? Charlie Weasley, Draco Malfoy. Draco, Charlie.” Hermione did not relinquish Charlie’s arms for the danger of Draco’s embrace, despite his request.

“All right, mate?” Charlie nodded to Draco.

“I know who you are,” Draco said coldly. He gestured to Hermione. “May I?”

“No,” Hermione said brightly. “My dance card is full. Good to see you, though. Try the punch!” She turned back to her partner and leaned her temple against his cheek. Charlie took that as his cue to spin her away, deeper into the crowd of couples.

“Hermione, wait!” Draco called. He threw up his hands and stomped off to a dark corner to sulk.

“You did great,” Charlie whispered. “He looks like he ate crow.”

“Pun intended,” Hermione laughed. She breathed a sigh of relief. “That was… so much easier than I thought it would be. I was prepared for the worst, and I just feel… indifferent.”

Charlie nodded and gave Draco a death glare over Hermione’s head. In response, the blonde merely shook his head once, raised his glass, and downed his own drink. Then, he turned on his polished heel and fled the ballroom. His ravens followed, swooping down from two separate corners of the ballroom, forcing Hermione and Charlie to duck.

“I think I’d like to sit down,” Hermione peeped.

“How about some cake?” Charlie suggested.

Hermione followed him towards the dessert table, which was piled high with cookies, tarts, pastries galore--and a massive cake in the shape of a golden snitch. Mr. Weasley was handing out pieces by this time, and he embraced Hermione with delight.

“My dear! I do so love your accoutrement this evening,” Arthur said cheerily. “Tan is my most favorite color.”

“Another count against it,” Hermione mumbled. “Thank you!”

“Where’s mum?” Charlie asked.

Arthur thumbed towards the chaise lounge behind him, where the Weasley matriarch was draped unceremoniously, sleeping soundly. Arthur let out a barking laugh of delight. He shook his head and passed off two generous slices of golden sponge cake.

They found comfortable seats on a few of the cushier chairs on the fringe of the massive ballroom; all of the round tables were occupied by those who wanted to avoid dancing, or were old enough to pry all the young people about when _they_ were going to tie the knot. Luckily, Ginny had insisted on having two ‘living rooms’ set up so guests could lounge as the liquor flowed. Those were blissfully vacant, and Hermione chose to sit on a smallish tangerine-colored loveseat. She dared Charlie to sit with her on the little couch with a glance to the open cushion. He removed his epic coat and draped it over the side chair, before taking his seat beside her.

They ate their cake in relative silence, but they said a lot of nothing in the flirtatious glances of hooded eyes. Hermione set her empty plate on the low table before them. Charlie did the same, and then went to work on the cuffs of his black shirt, which he rolled up just below the elbows.

Tattoos. She had forgotten about the damned tattoos. They just begged her to stare at his muscular forearms. Was he toying with her? She might have groaned, except that the way he was looking at her, she couldn’t hardly breathe. She coughed lightly.

“I’m sorry about Draco,” she managed.

“Things didn’t end well with you two,” he inferred.

“No. It all sort of blew up over the fact that he doesn’t want to have children. Wants the Malfoy infamy to die with him.” Hermione leaned back against the throw pillow, but Charlie leaned to brace himself on his elbows, towards her almost. He seemed to consider Draco’s position.

“I suppose that’s… noble,” Charlie said. “But not what you wanted.”

“No,” she agreed. “I want a family. I _need_ to build up my own family, especially since my parents can’t be in my life. And on top of that, he made me feel like an accessory. I was never outfitted nicely enough for him. Have you seen how I dress? I’m not exactly getting owls to model for Witch Weekly.” She gestured from her head to her toes with a fake flourish.

“I think you look like a beautiful barrister,” he teased.

“Apparently that isn’t the Malfoy type!” Hermione laughed.

“Well, business formal is certainly _my_ type. I am wild about shades of beige and a sensible heel.” He waggled his eyebrows.

“Okay, okay, I’ll burn the dress tomorrow!” Hermione smacked his chest lightly. “We can’t all be wearing the most magnificent cloak ever created. _Sir_.”

“It was a parting gift from my unit leader at the Sanctuary. She’s a spectacular tamer, and she happens to have great taste in fabric.”

“I thought you don’t work with many women.”

“Just that one, and her husband is one of my best mates.” He leaned back with his hands behind his head, crossing one ankle over his knee. Even his boots (dragon-hide, of course) were magnificent. His trousers were hugging all the right places. Needless to say, Hermione was highly distracted. “You’d like them, and they’d adore you.”

“Am I… adorable?” She poked two fingers in her dimples.

“You’re a pygmy puff.”

“Thanks… I think?”

“Oh, it’s most definitely a compliment.” He grinned.

Hermione crossed her arms. “Then you’re a wolf.”

“Is _that_ a good thing?”

“Very.” She couldn’t help but touch her cheeks, which were hot.

“Would you like to elaborate?” he asked quietly, stroking his chin.

“Not just now,” Hermione smiled coyly. “But suffice to say: the beard is certainly _my_ type.”

Charlie threw up his arms and sighed dramatically. “You only like me for my beard.”

“I’ve been found out! Alas! Now you know my secret shame.” She leaned towards him and propped her head up on crossed knees. “Your kindness, sense of humor, and wit will always fall second to your facial hair. It’s better that you know that up front.”

Charlie gave her a queer look of disbelief and happiness. He just shook his head and wrapped both hands around her free one. She studied his deep blue eyes. He had a gold ring around the center of his pupils. They could easily be mistaken for green or grey, if it weren’t for the cast from his blue robes. They were so close. They were the only two people in the room. Charlie’s gaze kept falling on her lips.

“I’d really like to kiss you, but I’m afraid it might ruin an otherwise perfect moment, and I’m conflicted about that,” Charlie said softly.

“Tell you what,” Hermione said, “I’ll go powder my nose, and when I’m done, I’ll walk outside to that little courtyard with the fountain, and if you’re there…” She shrugged. “Then we’ll see.”

She didn’t wait for his reply. Instead, she stood, dangled her shoes from her fingertips, and sidled past him. She let her hand touch his jaw, which flexed under her touch, and then skim across his earlobe and over his shoulder to tug the end of his ponytail. Hermione shot him one last look over her shoulder before disappearing up the small staircase and out the front entrance.

Well.

As if he would make any other choice.

Ten minutes later, Charlie found his way to the front courtyard of the Carrington Hotel, the premier wizard hotel in the heart of London. Only the best for the engagement of the Boy Who Lived and England’s Best Quidditch Player, of course. Except that the courtyard wasn’t the serene paradise one might expect, because Draco Malfoy had cornered Hermione and was shouting. Quite petulantly.

Hermione’s hand connected with Draco’s jaw in a pop that echoed off the courtyard granite walls. The man doubled over and waited but a moment to collect himself before Disapparating.

Hermione stood, fists clenched, panting. Then, she laid eyes on Charlie standing in the archway. With his coat slung over his shoulder, a billowing cape of Romanian silk, he looked the part of a romance novel hero. Hermione’s heart leapt at the smirk on his face, but it mingled with her adrenaline and anger, and came out… well, _interestingly_.

She strode toward him. “Where were you? I swear, I wasn’t out here two minutes before he found me! What a prat! He’s lucky you came out when you did because I could’ve killed ‘im.” And then she reached him, tossed her shoes aside, and launched herself at him--arms around neck, one hand tangled in his hair, the other curled around his neck--and pressed her lips against his. The force of her… attack set him off balance; Charlie dropped his coat to catch around her waist and then he turned to press her into the column. She worried his bottom lip once, twice, endlessly tugging at his hair for purchase. Charlie returned her fervor. When her tongue begged to play with his, he groaned into her mouth.

He pulled back for air and her lips chased his. He smiled against her mouth. “Tell me,” he said between kisses. “Do you… think… it ruined… our moment?” He gave her the slowest tease of a kiss, and pulled back to look at her. Her mouth was swollen and poised in the softest pout, broken only by the pull of a jubilant smile.

“We should do it again, just to check,” she whispered.

“Hmm. Scientific. I like it.” He pressed his forehead to hers. “I’m glad we stopped drinking earlier. I couldn’t bear to have this feeling muddled.”

“Charlie… can I be frank for a moment?”

“I’d expect nothing less.”

She inclined her head up to give him a soft kiss. “I find you incredibly sexy, and I have sobered and am very turned on, and given the opportunity to do more research on moment-ruining activities with you, I would say yes.”

He gave her a kiss in return, full of heat and the promise of more science to come. “Where shall we conduct such experiments? Your lab or mine?”

“You’re living with your parents.”

“Your lab it is. With the understanding that, if it appears that our tests are... at any point objectionable, we can… stop.”

She nodded. Charlie kissed her forehead and Hermione closed her eyes. “In case it does go well, however, I make excellent pancakes,” he murmured. Then, he offered one last peck on the tip of her nose.

Hermione disentangled herself from his embrace and retrieved her shoes, while Charlie brushed off his coat. She held out her hand. He held out his elbow. She may have arrived alone, but Hermione Granger left with her ampersand.

**Author's Note:**

> Thanks for reading! And I *know* it's chatty and bantery but that's my favorite type of flirty time. ;)


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